Chapter 928: Treatment of Procrastination Failed

Around 980, the Federation passed its first bankruptcy-related law, but it was soon suspended.

People believed the law overly favored debtors: once an individual filed for personal bankruptcy, their assets would be liquidated, converted to cash, and distributed proportionally to all creditors, with no remaining debt obligation.

In simple terms, if someone owed a million but owned only one credit,

all creditors would split that one credit, and the remaining 999,999 credits would simply vanish.

Afterward, whether the debtor worked, started a new business, or did anything else, the discharged debt would never be held against them.

This led some to exploit the no-debt-retention feature, repeatedly committing fraud and then filing for bankruptcy.

Asset transfer was already a well-established practice for the Federation, and they had long perfected an efficient system for it.

Thus, during this period, some professional bankrupts would fabricate a small business meeting loan criteria, then secure a bank loan.

Immediately afterward, they’d transfer all their assets away and file for bankruptcy, leaving nothing but a few coins in their pockets.

Even banks had no recourse, because the law protected them; the loaned money was simply written off as a total loss.

The bankruptcy law was originally meant to protect capitalists, but unexpectedly, it nearly became capital for some clever middle-class individuals to climb the social ladder.

And this scythe hadn’t even reached the working masses when its first cut landed squarely on the banks’ heads!

How could banks, the foundation of capital, allow such behavior?

So the first bankruptcy law was swiftly terminated, but society still needed a new bankruptcy law; thus, around 1010, the second bankruptcy law was enacted.

To prevent bankruptcy law from becoming a shield for fraudulent bankruptcy, the second law clearly overcorrected on certain issues.

The current bankruptcy law requires asset liquidation while retaining debt, and the debtor must submit a repayment plan.

If the debtor refuses to pay—say, by planning to live as a vagrant—the creditor has grounds to demand the debtor work.

Some had indeed considered the idea: since the debt was unpayable anyway, why not just not pay?

Most of these people eventually disappeared—more accurately, they died.

For large-capital creditors, if a debtor rendered themselves worthless, they’d rather let the debt rot than let the debtor escape without punishment.

This led many to return to slave-like conditions after bankruptcy.

Some media and public opinion now argue the current bankruptcy law overly protects creditors, leaving debtors with not a shred of hope.

Ogr was only one document away from personal bankruptcy when the hospital’s lawyer found him at his apartment.

He lay in bed, his entire body radiating lifelessness.

It was the weekend; his family was home—his wife and daughter.

The girl, surprised to see visitors, instinctively sensed these people weren’t here for anything good.

The household atmosphere had been tense and oppressive for days; she wanted to ask something but didn’t know how, so she waited silently for her parents to tell her the truth.

Unfortunately, her parents never told her what had happened—until this moment.

Ogr leaned on his cane and sat down in the living room; his wife stood nervously behind him.

The lawyer glanced at the filthy house and had no intention of sitting.

Who knew if the black grease on that chair would stick to his pants? His pants were expensive—and matched his suit!

“Mr. Ogr, I’m the legal representative from your hospital. I’m here to notify you: the Federal Court has ruled you must repay your outstanding medical debt.”

“But we checked your real estate registration—your house has been frozen. Records show you mortgaged it to a third-party financial company.”

“I’m not sure what you used the money for, or whether you employed some trick to transfer the property.”

“If you think this was clever, I can only say: you’re playing a small game that benefits you nothing.”

Ogr’s daughter turned, eyes wide, staring at her parents. “What is he saying?”

“What happened to our house?”

Ogr’s wife stepped toward the girl to comfort her, but the girl shoved her hand away.

She fixed her gaze on her father. “What did he say about our house?”

She hadn’t realized things were this bad—her house was gone?

Ogr had lost all paternal authority and confidence; he felt guilty and pained. “Our house is gone. And we owe the bank a huge sum.”

His daughter seemed to lose all control in an instant. She stood there, staring at her parents, mind blank.

She couldn’t understand: her father was a skilled worker, his monthly income wasn’t low—why had they lost their house and accumulated such debt?

She didn’t understand. She was too young. She couldn’t grasp the issue.

The lawyer glanced at the girl, then back at Ogr. “I’d like to speak with you alone from now on.”

Ogr nodded. “Take her to the bedroom.”

The space was small; his wife wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and led her into the bedroom. Once the door closed, the lawyer shook his head. “I don’t know if you did this intentionally, but your actions have angered the hospital.”

“You’d better find the money you owe the hospital—before they give up entirely on recovering it!”

Ogr sat there, still expressionless. “I have no money left. That money… I lost it at the casino.”

When he said it, he realized telling the truth wasn’t as hard as he’d imagined.

The lawyer paused, understanding Ogr’s plan: he’d gambled his last asset.

In his career, he’d seen many like him—bold, willing to risk everything—but their endings were always grim.

People only ever notice those who defeat fate, never realizing thousands—or more—have challenged it.

But over long stretches, only one or two, maybe three, ever succeed.

Those three or four people don't mean only three or four tried—they mean only those three succeeded; everyone else's failures vanish from sight, from memory.

The lawyer looked regretful. “Then it seems we have nothing more to discuss, Mr. Ogr. One last time: do you have any ability to pay?”

“Nine hundred and fifty credits—your hospital fees, plus interest.”

Ogr shook his head. “I have nothing left.”

The lawyer didn’t give up. “I’m not joking, Mr. Ogr. If you can pay, file for bankruptcy—we can draft a repayment plan together.”

“I heard your monthly income is about sixty to seventy credits. If you grit your teeth and endure, you could repay this debt in three to four years.”

At sixty-five credits per month over three years, total income would be 2,340 credits.

But roughly twenty percent would be taxed—higher during wartime—leaving only 1,782 credits.

For a family of three like yours, food costs about fifteen to twenty credits monthly.

Even at twenty credits per month, you’d have 1,512 credits left. After other expenses and bills, you’d likely repay the debt in three years.

That’s why the hospital sent me: this isn’t an uncollectible debt. If you simply file for bankruptcy and follow the hospital’s repayment protocol—get a job, have your salary paid directly to them—it’s manageable.

If the hospital had said this earlier, he might have agreed. But now, he didn’t care anymore.

The house was gone. He owed a fortune. He sighed, shook his head, and said nothing.

The lawyer watched him, expressionless. He worked for the hospital, but wasn’t part of it; Ogr’s refusal meant nothing emotionally to him.

He simply stared at Ogr. “You refuse to negotiate a repayment plan.”

Ogr clenched his lips. “Soon this house will be seized too. After that, we’ll have to rent—if we still have money.”

“Family expenses, unexpected costs—and look at my leg. It’ll keep me from working for at least half a year!”

“Honestly, Mr. Lawyer, I know better than you how much I have left each month!”

“It’ll take five or six years just to repay this debt.”

He’d developed a habit of taking painkillers. As a skilled worker, he’d realized the doctor’s warning about dependency had come true.

He tried fighting the pain, thinking it would pass. But after over two hours of agony, nearly driving him to jump out the window, he gave up.

He crushed three pills and swallowed them. Less than five minutes later, he felt fine.

He knew it was wrong—but he couldn’t change anything. It only increased his expenses.

What truly broke him wasn’t the five years it might take to repay the debt—it was that after five years, there’d still be no hope.

He’d still need five more years—or more—to somehow buy another house. By then, he’d be nearly fifty.

In the Federation, fifty was retirement age. At that point, he’d likely find no suitable job.

His strength and stamina couldn’t sustain the grueling labor—twelve or thirteen hours a day? No one could endure that!

He’d have to slave away for ten years, day and night. Just thinking of it filled him with a spirit of utter despair.

The lawyer studied him. “If you refuse to negotiate, we’ll transfer your debt to a collections agency.”

This piqued Ogr’s interest. He’d heard rumors about collections agencies—few details, just that they were ruthless and got results.

So he asked curiously, “Forgive me, but how much would you sell my debt for?”

The lawyer didn’t answer.

In truth, prices varied. Ogr’s case was “high-quality debt”—the hospital couldn’t monitor him indefinitely, but collections agencies had ways to make him obey, so the price would be higher.

These people were cruel, devoid of humanity. For them, money was everything—nothing else mattered.

Debt bundling had always existed and was legal. Lans had bundled debts from Chobaf (Imperial banker), but different companies handled them differently.

They were grateful organ transplant tech wasn’t advanced enough—otherwise, these debts would instantly become organ trafficking.

That’s why the Federation’s missing-person count kept rising—and would one day reach levels no one could believe!

There’s another curious detail: hospitals accept lower offers from collections agencies and seriously consider them—most agree.

Yet they never negotiate with patients—even one credit off is refused.

The lawyer had no more patience. “Aren’t you going to discuss this with your family?”

Ogr hesitated. “I’ll talk to them.”

The lawyer nodded. “I’ll return tomorrow.”

He left. After a while, silence filled the living room. His wife and daughter emerged from the bedroom, staring at Ogr. He told them everything.

After hearing him, his wife and daughter fell silent.

To return to their former life, they’d need ten years.

“Maybe… my daughter and I could both work. That way, we’d earn faster.”

Auger looked at his wife with a hint of arrogance and disdain. “What can you do?”

“What can she do?”

His tone showed no great emotional fluctuation, but both mother and daughter felt the contempt in his voice.

He did not believe his full-time housewife wife could find a good job in this terrible society, nor did he believe his daughter, about to graduate from high school, could land a job she truly wanted.

His wife chose silence, but his daughter began to argue with him.

In the end, they still chose the hospital’s plan—it was the only path left for them.

Actually, there was another path here, Auger had considered.

He would divorce his wife, leave the child with her, take on all the debt himself, and then do nothing—become a vagrant.

But he quickly dismissed the thought; he did not want to suffer alone while his wife and daughter embraced a new life.

He knew thinking this way was wrong—he simply could not bear to leave his family.

The next day, after the lawyer arrived and learned Auger was willing to cooperate, the lawyer was very satisfied, and they soon signed an agreement.

Auger and his family must pay the hospital twenty dollars per month for seventy months (including interest).

At this point, Auger himself had become indifferent—let it be whatever it would be.

Everything seemed to have returned to the beginning; after the lawyer and his team left, the three of them sat in silence, saying nothing.

The next day, his daughter went to school—she was about to graduate.

Auger, with the help of a reporter, went out to look for work; he knew his future was bleak, but he had to move forward.

His wife was sorting through household items, taking anything sellable to the street to sell, for they still had bills to pay—they needed money.

Previously, Auger had not thought finding a job was a problem, though he had faced rejection before.

Today he visited even more garment factories, including those that had secretly contacted him, trying to poach him; he thought offering sixty-five dollars would easily land him a job.

But after a full day, he still found no job!

Even when he lowered his wage demand to sixty dollars, he still found no job!

Once they learned he was Auger—who had participated in that strike—all garment factories turned him down!

When he returned home dejected in the evening, his wife had already prepared dinner.

She had taken free relief food from the street—a can of beans—and added a little minced beef and some tomato, then simmered it all together.

He complained a little, but only a little; soon the family sat quietly together to eat.

As the meal neared its end, his wife could not help asking, “Did you find a job?”

Auger’s hand with the spoon paused slightly, then quickly lifted the tomato and beans, along with the sour, strange broth, into his mouth; as he chewed, he mumbled, “No.”

No words were spoken that night; the next morning, Auger’s wife went out with him—she too was looking for work.

They had not forgotten the assignment their editor had given them; one reporter followed Auger, another followed his wife.

His wife first visited several places hiring workers; frankly, she could not do any of those jobs—some she had never even heard of.

After half a day, she found no job she could do; perhaps her husband was right—she could not find work.

Disheartened, she could not help asking the reporter who had been following her, “You’re a reporter—you must know far more than I do. Is there any job you think I could do?”

(End of Chapter)